


take my hand and set me free

by Splatx



Category: My Time At Portia (Video Game), Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, Ex-Outlaw, F/M, Feels, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Burn, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27527008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Splatx/pseuds/Splatx
Summary: The gang was over.They were all she'd ever known.But she wantedpeace, wanted to do good in her new start. She was lucky - not everyone else had made it out.So building things? Helping clear out monsters? Well, that sounded pretty damn good.
Relationships: Arlo/Builder (My Time At Portia), Arlo/Female Builder (My Time At Portia)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	1. prologue

When Arlo saw Toby among the gaggle of children, he knew they were up to no good. With the way Molly and Dolly and the others were peering around the gate, whispering behind their hands, he knew it would be best to break them up before they could cause any true fuss.

Seeing hard-working little Jack with them? Surprising. Quiet, studious, good-headed Polly? Even more so, and he asked “What’s going on?”

They startled, jumping and turning to look at him, for once _without_ guilt on their faces, and Polly blurted “The new Builder is really scary!”

Arlo bristled, dropped his hand to the blade on his hip, followed their sightline and realized he could see the new Builder’s workshop perfectly from where they hid - and caught the door closing behind her as she vanished inside. “Why? What did she do?” he’d not had a chance to meet her yet, she was fresh off the boat, so to say, and had spent very little time in Portia proper, instead electing to spend her time getting a feel for her workshop and settling in.

“Nothing,” Polly admitted, “She’s just really scary.” and the others nodded, eyes wide.

“Really rough and tough!” one chimed,

“She looks like a monster!” yelped another, and then it was a rush to give their opinion of her and Arlo couldn’t keep track of who was speaking, could only step back and feel rather like when he was being rushed by monsters in ruins, holding his hands up in a universal ‘wait!’

“Okay! OKAY!” he raised his voice to be heard over them, the kids finally hushing, shushing each other and he felt horribly powerful to have gotten Toby and Molly to listen to him. “So she hasn’t _done_ anything?”

They looked at each other, one at a time, before looking back at him and shaking their heads.

“Well, there’s not much I can do then, but I’ll talk to her, alright?”

The following chaos nearly deafened him, and he fled as quickly as he could, trying to figure out what he could say to the woman. _‘Hi, I’m sorry, but apparently your presence scares the kids’?_


	2. Stepped out of my zone / I had to get out all alone

Though Arlo would never admit it, he put off visiting the new Builder until the next morning.

He just… didn’t know what to say. “Hello, welcome to Portia! Oh, by the way, your presence scares the light out of the kids, can you do something about that?” didn’t exactly come across too kindly. Frankly, he’d been hoping he’d have a chance to meet the new Builder, run into them around Portia before he’d have to have a word with them, have it happen more organically. After all, being chastised the first time you meet someone doesn’t exactly build a positive relationship. But they hadn’t, it seemed that she still wasn’t coming into town yet even though she’d come off the boat a week or so ago, so after his morning patrols he headed towards her workshop and walked slowly, trying to figure out what to say.

  
  


A cloud of smoke plumed up from behind the little shack and he wondered if she’d already started her work, though he’d only seen Higgins at the commission board (not that he spent much time there, mind.) As he approached though, he found no Builder’s machines, only a campfire still flickering though it was nearing afternoon, a grate placed over it and something sitting on the metal, though from a distance he couldn’t make out what it was. A heap of brown and grey somethings… fur? furs? rested in a pile not far from the fire, and it took him a moment to realize it was a sleeping bag of sorts - was she camping out? She _did_ have a perfectly good (well, not _perfectly_ good, he’d had to pull the kids out of the ‘haunted cabin’ more times than he could count, and he knew it wasn’t exactly the nicest place, though Gale had had it fixed up when she’d bought it) house to sleep in.

At the far corner of the yard, tied to a long rope, was perhaps the biggest horse he’d ever seen. His Spacer would probably come only to its shoulder, if even that, and Spacer was bigger than the rest of their little herd. From a distance he couldn’t make out much, though he could see that it was a stocky thing, greyish in color with thick legs, a matching neck, and a barrel-like body. It perked its ears when it saw him, and squealed a wary, alarmed greeting.

He paused at the gate, not wanting to intrude but needing to talk to the woman, and looked around but couldn’t see her anywhere, so knocked on the wood and called a loud “Hello?”

  
  


She’d been in Portia for four days (and counting), although she wasn’t sure you could count if being in Portia if she’d never stepped foot in the town proper.

It wasn’t that she was procrastinating… not really. She was just… getting settled in, honest! She’d never had a house before, not even a room to herself, so she was taking her time to get used to it. And Portia _did_ look very crowded, and there _were_ a lot of people… baby steps, right?

So she had unloaded the wagon full of her things - not that she had a lot, not really, she’d left most of it behind, distributed it among Sadie and John and Tilly and the rest or lost it in Beaver Hollow to the Pinkertons, the flames or the scavengers that had made it there before she could, but still she did have _some_ things, gifted things or bought things or, to her shame, some stolen things (she swore that she would never steal again after those, but she _did_ need clothing,) so she had a few chests of things that she needed to haul in. She’d left them beside the cabin, intending on unpacking as she went, putting things where they belonged…

although there weren't many places _to_ put things. She had a bed, and that was that. So finally she set to work dragging the chests inside, an odd warmth in her chest as she added the clothes that Mr. Presley had given her (“a welcome gift!” he’d said) to the chest that held what clothing she’d brought with her, stolen or managed to save from Beaver Hollow.

She’d tried to sleep in the cabin - really, she had. But it was just so… strange. Sure, having the wind come in through the cracks in the walls made it feel more like home, but it was still _unfamiliar,_ and there was already so much unfamiliar, so much strange, and after the second night after staring at the roof, her eyes burning with exhaustion, she’d dug her bedroll out of the chest of furs she’d brought and set up a small campfire outside, staring at the unfamiliar stars above and listening to her mare’s quiet breathing not far away.

  
  


The next day, she tried to make the inside feel more like home. Grabbed one of the wolf hides and stretched it across the broken planks on the floor, kneeling and running her fingers through the coarse fur, already missing hunting with John and Sadie horribly. One of her Double Actions was shoved under the bed - the other on her hip alongside her LeMat, although there was no way she could bear them both.

She’d not met many people since arriving in Portia. Mr. Presley had welcomed her when she got off the boat but, otherwise, she’d kept to herself. There was a farm nearby, and she’d caught a blond-haired girl looking her way, but she seemed to have caught the hint when she retreated inside when the girl started heading over her way.

And then, of course, there was a loud knock on her gate and a _‘hello?’_ and, though she barked every sour word she knew (which, being an outlaw for almost her entire life, was quite a lot), she had no choice but to open her door - time to face the music.


	3. And here you come, all bargin' in

Arlo saw immediately why the new Builder scared the kids.

There was a harshness to her face that set him on edge, frown lines and laugh lines both though she couldn’t be any older than him, and his eyes were immediately drawn to the left side of her face, which was horribly twisted and warped in a burn, tugging her lip down and only barely sparing her eye.

He shivered - she looked like someone from Duvos’ war effort, though he’d been told the new Builder was from The Continent when Gale had told him that there would be a new citizen in Portia, and though she looked like she’d only come up to his chin and she was a citizen where he was of the Corps he felt rather intimidated by her.

“Yes?” she looked him up and down with a frown, “What d’ya need?” she spoke with a strange accent, her words slow and pulled out like taffy, an a way not unlike McDonald and Emily’s speech but also very different too.

  
  


He cleared his throat, straightened up - _Captain, Arlo, You’re a Captain!_ \- and offered his hand to her. “Hello, I’m Arlo! I’m the Captain of the Civil Corps here, we’re in charge of protecting Portia.” Did it sound like she was in trouble? Probably. Dammit.

She raised an eyebrow, looked him up and down again and he had the strangest feeling he’d been judged and found wanting. “Alright then. Name’s Anna. S’a pleasure.” and then she looked at him expectantly, because surely he hadn’t just come to say ‘hi, my name is -” he could have worn a nametag for that, after all.

Arlo fought the urge to fidget, finding her stare increasingly unsettling, almost cleared his throat again before regaining his composure and remembering that he’d just done so. Wow, she had done a good job at knocking him for a loop - it was a good thing that he hadn’t brought Sam or Remington with him, they’d never let him live it down. “I didn’t just come to say hello,”

Well, Anna could have guessed that,

“See, the kids, they find you rather off-putting. Rather scary, I mean. I don’t agree with them, of course, but they’re kids - what can you do, you know?” Stare.

He paused, looked at her,

stare.

“Do you think, perhaps, you could… I don’t know, talk to them?”

She looked at him like she thought him a right fool. “Let me… get this straight,” Anna drawled, “These kids are afraid of me for no reason of my own, and it’s on _me_ to make them feel better?” Well. Put like that it did sound pretty awful - not that it didn’t sound pretty bad already. Arlo fought the urge to tug at his beloved bandana or to clear at his throat.

“It’s not… It really isn’t on you, but they’re kids, you know? If they see you’re just another person, they’ll stop being scared.”

  
  


What the hell kind of town had she moved into?

Anna had moved to Portia in hopes of retirement - of an easy life. Or, at least, easier. One where she didn’t get stared at when she walked into town, didn’t have to worry about being hated just for existing. Where mothers didn’t tuck their children into their skirts when she walked by. To be able to _help_ people, to _make_ things instead of destroy them, to have friends - or, at least, not have enemies.

But she hadn’t even stepped foot into town and she’d been reprimanded for scaring the kids… just by existing. By having scars on her face and one less arm. By walking around in her own damn yard. Well - reprimanded wasn’t quite the right word, the man had been kind about it but _even still—_

—and what kind of children were afraid of a scar, anyways? Jack hadn’t been afraid John when his face was still bloodied and torn from the wolf attack, he’d been worried for his Pa instead. He hadn’t been afraid of Arthur (oh, _Arthur)_ when the man had taken his shirt off to take him swimming and revealed his new scar from the O’Driscoll’s, had instead asked if he was okay. But these children thought her a monster for an old burn on her face and a missing arm, the stump well hidden by her tied shirt-sleeve.

She’d never met such cowardly children before - and she hadn’t even met them!


End file.
